Killer Within (12 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

WHEN I GET HOME, I
pull up “my” site and start scrolling. It’s buzzing about Michael Mason’s encounter with the Masked Savior.

[VodkaRocks] There’s the Savior we love!

[j_d_l] Welcome back. So much for laying low.

I narrow my eyes. There you are, j_d_l. You’ve been laying low as well. I hover my mouse over his avatar, and he immediately begins typing again.

[j_d_l] What are your darkest desires?

Right now? To meet this M person and to also figure out who you are. But my darkest desire? To kill Marji.

Wait a minute . . . M.
Marji
. Hell freaking A. There’s no way they could be one and the same. My mom knew I was the
Masked Savior, and she probably told Marji. Marji’s a psycho, but she wouldn’t lower herself to something like developing a fan site. Would she?

[KyleScienceGuy] My darkest desire is to see Junior’s legs broken.

It’s the first response that pops up to j_d_l’s question, and I sit back in my chair.
Whoa.
O-kay. Not what I expected to read from Kyle, Science Club President. By Junior, I assume he means our homecoming king. Sure, Junior’s a dick, and I’ve seen him push Kyle around a time or two, but broken legs? That’s a bit much.

I read a few more responses to the darkest desire question. The majority of them want to get back at someone for something. Not good.

Here’s the thing: I know this is a fan site, but Catalina’s right. There are a lot of weirdos registered. People like Michael Mason, who would branch out and do things to others. The people on this site don’t just talk about the Masked Savior, they fantasize about hurting others. The task force is supposedly monitoring the site, they’re reading this stuff. They’re tracking it.

I want to log on and IM j_d_l again, but I’m just not confident I can do it without being traced. I hover my mouse over j_d_l’s avatar once more, and a few seconds later he logs off.

My phone rings. Catalina. “Hey.”

“You’re not going to believe this,” she excitedly whispers. “M contacted me.”

My blood twitches. “For?”

“Not sure. I’ll find out soon. God, this is so exciting. The Masked Savior has inspired
so
many of us. We’re all becoming friends.”

I immediately think of what Tommy said. “Are you meeting in person?”

“No, we’re having a phone conversation.” She lowers her voice even more. “If I can arrange it, would you like to virtually meet M too?”

Inside I smirk. “Yes. Definitely.”

She laughs. “Ha! I adore you. You’ve got a little dark side too.”

She has no idea.

“Okay, that’s it. Gotta go. Bye.”

“Bye.” I hang up and just sit for a bit, going through everything. The Weasel—the rapist. Marco—the animal abuser. Heather—the drunk driver. All things I did before Mom.

The shaved cheerleader. Aisha—the druggie. Michael—the deranged stabber. All things I did after Mom.

Then I cycle through all the ones I didn’t actually do: the teen prostitute; the homeless boy; Jacks, who I wanted to do but didn’t.

The cops have a profile. Michael Mason gave them a different one. I think it’s time I confused them a little more.

I’ve been on the defense, like my aikido training has taught me. What if I were to go on the offense? Compose a statement to the local task force, detailing everything I know, not using names, but all the inside information. That, coupled with a false profile, might just be the key to leading the task force in a different direction and buying me more time to figure all this out.

I know exactly who I’m going to point them to.

Chapter
Twenty-Nine

THE NEXT AFTERNOON I WALK
into the bathroom I share with my brother and sister and grab my toothbrush. Daisy is standing at the other sink, putting on mascara and slowly swaying to whatever’s playing in her ears.

I brush my teeth as I watch her. . . . Normally, she’s rocking out to indie punk.

She catches me looking and smiles, then plucks one bud from her ear and slips it into mine. It’s acoustical guitar. Huh.

“Hammond introduced me to it. Nice, isn’t it?”

I nod and continue brushing my teeth. Then I pile my curls into a ponytail, all the while listening with her. She’s right. Nice. Peaceful.

The song ends and she slips the bud from my ear. “What happened to you and Zach?”

Wasn’t expecting that question. “There really wasn’t ever a ‘me and Zach.’ ”

She gives me a soft smile that is nothing like the sister I used to know. “Yes there was. Whether you want to admit it or not. He’s good for you.” Playfully she punches my arm. “And you were good for him, too.”

No, I wasn’t. I’m not good for anybody. “Heading to Patch and Paw. See you later.”

She gives me a wave. “Yep, later.”

As I walk out our front door, I see Tommy propped on his bike. The last thing he called me was a liar. He’s not exactly the person I want to see right now.

“I have been researching the Decapitator nonstop since I found out you were his niece,” he begins, with no niceties at all. “Nowhere in that research did I find any mention of you witnessing the first killing.”

I don’t respond. I don’t know what he expects me to say. Everything surrounding the Decapitator is hidden deep. Very few people know, in an official capacity, that I was found at three years old in the same room where my preschool teacher had been violently murdered.

“I suppose it has everything to do with your parents working for the FBI.”

He supposes right.

“What I want to know is, how disturbed did it make you?”

My heart pauses midbeat at his question, but I don’t answer.

“My guess is it made you question your whole existence.”

I don’t like how close he’s getting. He’s reading me a little too well. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even I can hear the defensiveness in my tone.

“Oh, I think I do.”

I swallow, and he follows the nervous movement with his eyes. It pisses me off.

“I said before, I think you’re hiding something.” He cranks his engine. “I still do.” With that he pulls off.

What the hell was that, and how exactly does he expect me to respond? He thinks he can come and go, be confrontational, be cryptic, and challenge me. How wrong he is. Tommy needs to take a step back out of my business.

That night I get home from my Patch and Paw shift to find Gramps and Justin working on a model.

“Justin, you’re not doing it right. Are you not listening to me?” Gramps demands.

“I’m sorry,” my brother mumbles. “I’m trying.”

Gramps sighs. “I don’t know why you asked me to help if you planned on doing it your own way.”

Justin ducks his head and sniffs and I lose it. “Leave him alone.”

Gramps swerves his head toward me. “Young lady, you do
not
talk to me that way.”

“And you don’t talk to my brother that way.”

“Your
half
brother.”

I take a step toward him and Gramps stands up.

“It’s okay,” Justin intercedes.

The old man and I stare each other down for a few long seconds, and he turns away first. I grab my stuff and charge upstairs.

“Hey,” Victor greets me from his room. “Time to talk?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Oh . . . strange. Why would Victor want to go for a walk? This isn’t like him. At all. It kind of freaks me out.

We pass Gramps on the way back out, and I don’t even glance in his direction.

Outside and down the dark sidewalk, Victor speaks. “I feel like we never get any time together. How are you doing?”

I give my standard response. “Fine.”

Victor wraps his arm around me, and the warmth feels so good in the cold night. “Lane, you can talk to me.”

He needs something, I realize this, and so I conjure up enough truth for meaning. “I . . . feel like my life is a lie. That
our family is the only thing keeping me sane.” I pause a second to formulate what I want to say next. “I don’t know what I would do if it went away. Some days I seem like myself, and others I don’t recognize me.”

He smiles gently. “I feel the same way,” he quietly admits. “Some days I walk around in a daze wondering where things go from here. I really miss your mom.”

I want so badly to tell him Mom wasn’t the woman he loved, but that’s a burden only I’ll carry. Justin, Daisy, and Victor will remember the fictitious version of her.

We round the block and continue in silence. Then Victor goes on, “I know you need an ‘out’ for your anger, your confusion, your questions. . . .”

I stop walking and turn to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you’ve been on that Masked Savior website.”

What? How does he know that?

“I’m asking you, no,
telling
you, to stay off of it. This vigilante thing has gotten out of hand. The task force is on that site, routinely cruising the feeds, keeping records on everything. Just stay off of it, okay?”

Has Catalina’s father had this same talk with her?

“Dad, how do you know I’ve been on the site?”

“Quite by accident, I assure you. Your brother was using my laptop, so I grabbed yours and stumbled across it.”

I believe him. He’s always respected my privacy. He’s never been the type to snoop. Now if it were Gramps . . . “Thank you,” I honestly tell him. “And I will. No more website. I promise.”

Victor hugs me. “Exactly what I wanted to hear. Also”—he starts walking me back to our house—“how well have you gotten to know Catalina?”

“A little well. Why?”

Victor takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “Catalina’s father shared something with me that I think you need to know.”

This doesn’t sound good. “When Catalina was a little girl, she fell down their stairs and was in a coma for a while. She sustained frontal-lobe damage from that fall.”

I stop walking. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“According to her father, it affected her processing, her moods, impulsivity, and her behaviors. She does things and doesn’t think they’re wrong. That’s why she’s been homeschooled. She used to have a lot of problems with other kids. You’ve heard the term ‘doesn’t play well with others.’ Well, that’s how he described Catalina.”

Interesting.

“I’m telling you because I want you to be careful with her. She’s intelligent, astute, and, as I just mentioned, struggles with processing and impulsivity issues. Her dad says she’s really
developed over the years, made progress with her doctors, but still, be alert. Okay?”

“Okay.”

We walk back to our house, and all I can puzzle about is Catalina. Processing. Impulsivity. Moody. Save for the intelligence, I haven’t seen any of those other things in her. I know I’ve been a little off, but not so much that I would’ve misread her, right?

Chapter
Thirty

THAT NIGHT AS I GO
to sleep, my mind shifts to Tommy. What does he know about this leader, M, and what has he discovered in his research of the Decapitator? Honestly, if Reggie really put her mind to it, she could likely dig up things I never want dug up again. If
I
had Reggie’s skills, I would find everything I could and permanently delete it.

What I can try to do is figure out Tommy’s level of expertise. . . .

In the morning I head downstairs and hear Victor and Gramps already up and in the kitchen.

“She was disrespectful to me,” Gramps harshly whispers.

I pause to listen.

Victor sighs. “You have
always
ridden Lane harder than the other two. Ease up on my daughter.”

“She’s not your daughter,” Gramps snaps.

That comment pierces straight through me like a hot, sad knife.

“Yes. She. Is,” Victor defends me.

“I’ve noticed Justin is starting to get out of hand. You’ve lost control of your kids.”

I hear Victor pace away, pause, then walk back. “We haven’t been doing great, but we’re doing okay. We’re getting there as a family. The kids were obviously happy to see you, but it’s come to enough. When you make my son cry, it’s enough.”

“Did Lane tell you that?” Gramps retorts.

“No,
Dad
, Daisy did. Listen, I appreciate you coming, but it’s best if you go back home now.”

Gramps doesn’t immediately respond. “You mark my words, that
daughter
of yours . . . she’s going to cause you nothing but trouble.”

Even though I’ve heard him say this before, it still hurts.

“No, she’s not. She’s perfect in her own unique way. I want you gone by the end of the day.”

As quietly as I can, I tiptoe back up the stairs to my room. I close my door, lie down on my bed, and think about my grandfather. Maybe he shares that inner sense that I do. He knows something’s not right with me.

A note on my desk catches my attention. I glance over and see it’s from Justin.

Will you come to the art fair?

My model will be on display.

It’s today after school.

Daisy said she’d come.

I smile and grab a pen.
YES!
I write back and go tape it on his door. Gramps is out of here. Victor loves me. Daisy really is a sister. And Justin wants me to come to his art fair.

My family. My sanity. As long as I have them, my world will be all right.

After school I look up Tommy and find his name connected to his sister, of course, the Decapitator’s victim. I also find him buried in several links throughout middle and high school. I select a few of them. He went to Longfellow Middle and then on to Thomas Jefferson High. I click through more links to awards he received in . . . computer science.

Great.

I think you’re hiding something.

Why would he say that to me? Just to taunt?

I sit for a second and consider what story I might be able to tell Reggie so she’ll help me find out if Tommy knows more
than I think he does. I come up with several and decide on none. I’m falling into old patterns, and this isn’t how I want to become friends with Reggie again.

I’m just going to have to break into Tommy’s apartment and do some digging.

“Ready?” Daisy asks.

I close down the library’s computer and dig my Jeep keys out, and we head to Justin’s art fair. This is something my mom would’ve gone to. It occurs to me—this is the first school thing Justin’s done without her.

Daisy must think this too, because she hugs Justin and says, “Mom would be very proud.”

I hug him too. “She would.”

He grins. “Thanks.”

That grin is all I need to promise myself I’ll go to every one of his things after this.

While the judges walk around, I hang along the back wall and watch it all. To the left I spy Kyle near his sister’s display, standing, glaring across the room. I follow that glare to see I-want-to-break-his-legs Junior.

Holy goddamn hell
—he’s on crutches with a cast covering his entire left leg.

I glance back to Kyle to see him staring right at me. His glare softens, like he’s trying to hide it, and he turns to his sister.

What
did he do to Junior?

I walk right toward Kyle and pull him aside. I don’t bother telling him I saw his post on the site. I don’t bother telling him the cops are monitoring said site. I merely say, “Tell me you’re not responsible for that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feigns innocence. “I heard Junior fell down some stairs.”

Yeah, right. I
know
this isn’t my fight, and yes, Junior’s a dick, but a broken leg? Jesus. “I trust Junior won’t be falling down any more stairs?” I venture.

Kyle shrugs. “Depends on how clumsy he is.”

Oh, no, this isn’t going to work for me. But I started all this. I inadvertently gave a green light to my “fan club” to go out and wreak havoc. Now I have to clean up their mess, stop them, redirect them, something. . . .

Plus, I know that look in Kyle’s eyes. Now that he’s had a taste of violence, he’s ready for a little more. I’ve created a monster of a problem.

This is why I value my solitude. Fan clubs, gangs, followings—it’s too many people. Too much everything.

The thing is, I’ve spent my whole life the way I am. I’m used to it. It’s me. It’s my innate being. The rest of these fools are taking risks. They’re careless, thoughtless, and lack direction, and
hopefully
will screw up and get caught.

Hopefully.

A honking horn has me glancing past Kyle, through the
bank of windows and out into the parking lot, where a dark blue BMW sits.

Marji smiles and waves, and I narrow my eyes. What is she doing?

“Who’s that?” Daisy asks, and I spin to block her line of sight. I didn’t realize she walked up.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “Probably a parent, someone Mom knew.”

I take Daisy’s arm and steer her away. When we’re back near Justin, I glance over my shoulder to see Marji gone.